Strange Beautiful Children
by Heart of Sunshine
Summary: Caesar's Palace, February Challenge: history is full of wars fought for a hundred reasons— dulce et decorum est pro patria mori (how sweet and honourable it is to die for one's country). The story of a lonely rebel boy, his beautiful little bird, the Rebellion, the first Victor of the Hunger Games, and the Hanging Tree.


_history is full of wars fought for a hundred reasons— dulce et decorum est pro patria mori (how sweet and honourable it is to die for one's country)._

Sometimes he felt like like one single rebel soldier fighting insurmountable odds, alone and unprotected. Even when the sharp-tipped sun-catching rifles of his comrades shone over the trenches, he felt inexplicably lonely, and wondered if there was really anyone he was fighting together with, or against, and maybe he was the only person in the world, fighting a war against himself. Maybe there wasn't even a point to it all; the Capitol had far better odds of victory, and he had probably less than forty percent chance of surviving the whole thing. He should've joined the Capitol and had a chance of living past sixteen. The odds weren't and never were in his favor, or his friends, or his entire side.

What was that whining engine sound, that looming shadow plummeting toward him?

Sometimes she wondered if there was even a point to the war: the Capitol was so much more dangerous, outnumbered but over-equipped, and she felt that it wasn't fair to the district citizens crouched in their muddy trenches as she flew her little plane (she called it Nimbus) overhead and bombed the lot. She'd seen old men, young women nurses with babies swelling in their bellies, children no older than eighteen, like herself. She didn't think killing them was worth it. Her Capitol could withdraw and the districts would still keep dying by mutts and traps and disease until the only people left in Panem (maybe the world) were the colorful ones in her painted city. Guess the odds were never in the districts' favor.

What was that grinding sound of stuck gears, and why wouldn't her faithful plane work?

* * *

He finally caught a lucky break, struck gold: a little Capitol plane lost control and veered toward his trench. With the best shot of his year-long military training, he hit the already smoldering left wing, and the plane hit the ground and burst into flame. There was no ecstacy in it, strangely, though he'd been trying to bring down a fighter jet for months. There was no joy in killing a Capitol soldier, faceless and mindless as district propaganda would have them.

Then a scorched figure dragged itself from the shattered cockpit and collapsed. He could have killed the soldier immediately, but it felt depraved: the small, unconscious form was vulnerable and injured. It would be wrong.

She woke up strapped to a metal cot, with bandages wrapped around her head and body. She was in too much pain to move, even if she could have. It hurt to breathe, blink, even think: what happened, how did she get there? Had she been wounded and carried back to a Capitol hospital, if so, why was she immobilized? Had she been crippled for life and confined to a wheelchair or bed forever? Was she dying right then, or about to?

Then she remembered being shot down by a filthy rebel, and she cried aloud, because Nimbus was destroyed and she was a prisoner of war. She'd thought the rebels couldn't even do anything against her. She was wrong.

* * *

He felt curious about the soldier he'd brought down and hauled to the base. They'd wanted to shoot the evil Capitolian immediately, but he'd persuaded them to heal and keep the prisoner of war. He felt dirty, somehow, ashamed of hurting a soldier who'd been as small as himself. He wanted to see under the mask, and prove to himself how Capitol citizens weren't really ugly monsters. He wanted to see if he or she was as lonely and afraid as he was. Maybe they'd talk to him, since his own 'righteous' side didn't consider it important enough to reassure a scared teenage boy that everything was going to turn out all right. He could apologize to them for shooting their plane down and hurting them.

He was more surprised than when he'd been pulled from his house into the barracks to see a sixteen year old girl, ravishingly beautiful under the scars and grime.

The rebel boy wasn't as filthy and awful as she had been led to believe, even though he'd shot her and her faithful Nimbus down. He was actually kind of cute and sweet to her: he apologized over and over again for hurting her, he stayed by her whenever he got leave, and took personal charge of her care. Though it was against the rules and he could've been put on fatigue, he unstrapped her and let her feed herself. He even gave her some fruit from his father to brighten up her tasteless gruel. She knew it was wrong and bad and treacherous of her, but she kind of didn't hate him. Even though he'd hurt and captured her and he really wasn't cute or nice at all, he was okay company.

When he told her that, despite their numerous faults, he would die for the districts and their freedom, she understood exactly why. Because they were home.

* * *

He realized he had to free her. The strange, beautiful little bird who'd flown down to him from the sky was almost healed, and almost ready to be thrown into the cramped, dirty cells where prisoners of war were stored, stacked on top of each other like coal bins in his own District Twelve. He'd heard of the things Capitol men would do down there, to their own loyal young soldiers, and his new friend was too delicate for him to let that happen to her. Yes, delicate. He'd even call her innocent. She'd killed rebel soldiers, but he and his young friends killed a few Capitolians too, and from her talk, the Capitol was just as fair a side as his own (wasn't). They were both just kids, trapped in a brutal, never-ending war where both sides were secretly screaming for help.

The next night, he snuck into the medical tent and unstrapped her. He told her to run, and he could run with her, so they'd both be free.

She didn't take the offer. She knew that it would be her only chance of escape, that if she didn't go, she'd likely die, but that was a chance she'd have to take. Because no matter how the strange, beautiful boy pleaded for her to run away with him, back to his district where he was sure he could hide her, she was still a faithful Capitol citizen. In the end, he realized that he couldn't really do that to his friends and the side of the districts. He was faithful to his own side, though he'd likely die before the war was over. He'd die bravely and nobly in honor of his districts, just as she'd give up her life for her Capitol. But they could still be together. He said he'd never leave her side, because even though he opposed the Capitol with all his heart, she was different. She was worth it.

They were just two lonely, scared kids from different sides, willing to die for their sides and each other, which was against every rule, but they didn't care.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke to find his grim drill sergeant hauling his beautiful bird away to the cells. He knocked the sergeant down (which he'd always secretly wanted to do) and hid his beautiful bird in his tent, trying to save her life, even though he was breaking every rule. Unfortunately, the sergeant knew all about those kinds of tricks (even though usually it was something like candy being hidden instead of a prisoner), and he pulled her out, and took both kids to the general. He accused the boy of murdering three of his own side, and the girl of assisting him, and they were sent back to District Twelve for a death sentence.

Through the whole ridiculous, false accusal and sentence, and the journey to District Twelve, the boy held his beautiful bird tight through the tears and promised her everything would be okay, like nobody had for him.

Her strange, beautiful boy stood up with honor at the gallows and took all the blame, insisted that he had done the crimes and she was innocent, and then he died for his country as she screamed for him. His kind, heartbroken father took her in and held her tight, promising everything would be okay, even though nothing could ever be okay again. Two days later (her beautiful boy almost made it), the war ended, and her Capitol won. But she felt no ecstasy in it, no joy, because now the districts were vulnerable and injured, and she loved them so. She was still a Capitol citizen, but why couldn't she belong to both sides?

A fight to the death for the district kids called the Hunger Games was instated, and 'by chance', she was Reaped. Three days later, a bloodstained little bird returned to District Twelve, and hung herself beside her strange, beautiful boy.

* * *

And forever after, District Twelve would sing of the love between their truly faithful young soldier and his beloved little mockingjay bird, and they never let them be forgotten.

_Are you, Are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, Are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

_Strange things did happen here,_

_No stranger would it be,_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._


End file.
